Night Fishing

connected to host>>
welcome to private chat
BUGMAN: i saw u last night
DOGPHROG: u r shitting me
BUGMAN: NO. I did c u. u DID c me!!
BUGMAN: u still there???

Night-time perplexes me. Its majesty defies description, its mystery
confounds and divides the worthiest of poets. Its true nature troubles
me, as it must the majority of the population, who choose to slavishly
die through each passing. Night is dark, night is madness, night is
fear, night is not day without the light. Wandering the empty streets,
cul-de-sacs and avenues I find myself addicted. I can't leave it alone.
They say there is no
magic anymore, but they're just not around at the right time. Wait
until the competing wafts of dinner drift away, until the final
bathroom light is extinguished and a newborn world of possibilities is
revealed under a different filter. Night-shift workers fail to grasp
this urbanity under their florescent timeless vaults as do the taxi
drivers ferrying students to their dealers and lovers back home. My
unnatural daytime rhythms are interrupted on even the most basic of
levels. Sounds I do not care for, my footsteps for instance, makes me
wish I had worn softer shoes. My coat, for all its water resistance
rustles irritably and reminds me that natural fibres are the
future.

Once you have mastered your own silence, you can concentrate on the
clumsiness of others

For years I have played a game with myself. I have tried, as
often as providence and sobriety allows, to make it home on foot
without
being seen by car, pedestrian, CCTV or light sleepers the city over. If
you are struggling to imagine the difficulty of this task let me set
the scene. Tonight for instance, I have slipped out towards my
destination in the early hours and have immediately ducked onto a side
street bereft of any routes likely to be crossed by drunken apostates.
The drunk. Whilst it is unlikely they will be able to identify you
again legally, are unpredictable and therefore are to be avoided. The
general rule is to stay alert. Ears are the greatest defence against
the unseen. A car or a van can be on you in a split second, their own
noise cushioned by the array of parked metal and steep tenements.
Sometimes you have to think fast, being quick on your feet is no great
advantage when you need to hide.

Animals are barometers and unlikely friends, tree hugging
is a technique not a lifestyle.

I cannot consider myself a master of my own game since until
recently I had never shared it with anyone and my skills were untested
but there is no doubt that I consider myself a master of the night.
Recently I have watched as the game changed and adopted a new player
who has taken it for himself. Perhaps I have just been looking for such
an application of my skill. Perhaps I needed this test. My opponent is
not only anonymous but unknowable as all the best opponents are.

Our greatest battles are waged with ourselves and our service
providers.

connected to host>>
welcome to private chat
DOGPHROG: so that's it, the idea is to get from one side
of the city to the other without being seen.
BUGMAN: how do u know u havent been seen?
DOGPHROG: i just do, it's just a feeling i guess. I get disappointed
when i am
BUGMAN: and do u get caught often?
DOGPHROG: v.rarely
BUGMAN: lots of peepl probly c u, u just dont know it
DOGPHROG: of course u can neverb certain?
BUGMAN: theres a being seen &;amp; being ID'd U could wear a
disguise
DOGPHROG: no fun
BUGMAN: but u need to get away with something, no point otherwise
DOGPHROG: i am not a crim, i dont steal
BUGMAN: me neither, stealing is for chavs
DOGPHROG: chavs meaning?
BUGMAN: council house vermin
DOGPHROG: lol r u talking about graffiti?
BUGMAN: don't limit yourself, it's your choice, have a crafty
shabba if you like
DOGPRHOG: ok I got that one

Bugman and I discussed art, we discussed scale, and we
discussed tactics. He equated urban art warfare with low risk fun
and
suggested that he might actually cause people to look up from
their
dashboards once in a while and be truly enlightened. He said that if he
got caught, the consequences would be slight and besides there is a
lesson in
every mistake. The subject need not always be political, inflammatory
or radical. It might as well be absurd in a world where the only
messages most of us receive are commercial. Bugman has revealed to me
how nice he believes it would be for the masses to absorb a thought
without the
pressure to buy its product. Perhaps there is a sprinkling of hope
for
Bugman yet.

Exaggeration is the beginning of invention.

connected to host>>
welcome to private chat
BUGMAN: Rule#1 Once the target area has been suggested, the
contestant has one week to plan and execute the
operation
DOGPHROG: Rule#2 On commencement of the operation, the
contestant should contact the opponent immediately so that the hunt
can begin
BUGMAN: Rule#3 The non-operative competitor should not
interfere with the others operation until it is complete
DOGPHROG: Rule#4 Proof of deed or discovery should be
provided electronically, i.e digital photograph

We begin with simple tasks. We both admit that our early outings are
hampered by over-caution and I personally have been close to arrest had
it not been for some quick thinking and a pizza box. A stencil here, a
defacement there and each of us has proved to be as elusive and as
incisive as the other in our choice of words, targets and locations.
There are intellectual and cultural resonances between us, mostly in
the sense that we are anti this and that. Bugman, it appears has not
yet spotted my binary message scrawled in fake blood on the wall of the
local hospital.

011011010111100100100000011010110110100101101100011011000110
010101110010001001110111001100100000011011100110000101101101
01100101001000000110100101110011001011100010111000101110

Bugman's early work could best be described as elegant but
unoriginal. The residents of a local high rise look down one morning
onto their local park and see the huge words,'YOU SHOULD GET OUT
MORE'
burnt into the grass below using some sort of weed killer. I cannot
deny the intended irony of his stunt on so many levels but it lacks
risk until I ask for the details.

connected to host>>
welcome to private chat
DOGPRHOG: what did u use?
BUGMAN: something called Turcam Turbo found in shed DOGPHROG: hang on a
mo?surfin'
DOGPHROG: Turcam is on the restricted pesticide list in the
States
BUGMAN: really?
DOGPHROG: and u stole the idea from the Simpsons
BUGMAN: :( guilty :(
DOGPHROG: hope u wore gloves and handed out gloves and
hazmat suits 2 all the children who play in
that park?
BUGMAN: *Bugman has worried look on face* who you gonna call?
DOGPHROG: ghostbusters, who do you think, try the environment agency.
three words,
increase your medication.

As an anti-graffiti officer for the city council, my job requires a
certain guile. I am responsible for the clean up of graffiti in the
city but by day I am office bound, logging tags, identifying patterns
and trends as well as working with the local community. I also provide
safe areas for budding artists to flourish. By night I take my work out
with me.

Warning: ambitious careerists may now be disguised
as "progressives."

connected to host>>
welcome to private chat
BUGMAN: have u seen it?
DOGPHROG: yr latest masterpiece?
BUGMAN: y am i thinking u r not taking this seriously?
DOGPHROG: i am
DOGPHROG: more than u know
BUGMAN: u will have seen it then
DOGPHROG: oh i've seen it u crazy fucker
BUGMAN: u like?
DOGPHROG: u cheshire

I was encouraging Bugman was to raise his game, considerably.
It would be better for him in the long run if he made a mistake now,
got
caught, changed his behaviour. Minor defacements and alterations
to
advertising hoardings are one thing, eight foot high stencils on
motorway bridges are another. Despite his stupidity I could not fault
his taste or technique. The stencil, in basic black and white, depicted
an asthma inhaler belching out a cloud of exhaust fumes. Along its
length in vertical typeface were two small words, 'air con'. This was
one work I would not be asking the boys to clean up for a while at
least.

If I thought too hard about Bugman's antics, my brain would eddy
with a hideous jealousy. Jealous of his freedom and resentful of
the
corporate collar I wore by day. I have never believed in fighting above
my own weight but disappointment and defeat was unthinkable. Too much
paint on my patch was bad, not enough and I was out of a job. For now I
was happy to encourage the Bugman onto even greater feats.

Imagination is not a gift, it must be conquered. - Breton

My response for now was swift, sweet and irrational. You don't
have to be journalist to know that twenty kilos of dissected offal
attached to 500 helium filled party balloons can cause quite a stir in
the next town if not in yours. The attached labels carried a mock logo;
Dead Pony Express. The local news showed the aftermath as I typed.
Bugman was watching too.

connected to host>>
welcome to private chat
BUGMAN: U R SICK
DOGPHROG: did you see that? must have got four cars and omg, look,
look, McDonalds
BUGMAN: I repeat u r sick phrogman
DOGPHROG: wheres yr sense of fun?
BUGMAN: it was pointless
DOGPHROG: art. u wanna talk about art?
BUGMAN: u broke the rules and its not art
DOGPHROG: what is it, if its not art
BUGMAN: it's a waste of dogfood

For the record, I have a true respect for those who apply
themselves well. Their work will be respected by me and my cleaners
and
given it's due airing. It is the taggers that give the minority a bad
name. Graffiti has its obvious place in social history. There is no
single version and no claim can be made for its origins since it is as
natural to scrape in the dirt as it is to cry into the wind. When
people have no means of expressing their opinion through print or other
media, the wall is the canvas of choice. Amongst the 1968 almost French
Revolution, graffiti was rife and arguably at its best. From that time
comes a daub that sums up the feeling of every young man with a can
from then until now "Under the paving stones, the beach."

I had a fairly clear idea of what kind of man this Bugman was. He was
obviously taking his hobby fairly seriously and it was also clear that
he possessed some moral resolve. I hoped my pointless stunt would
inspire him to a higher cause, a bigger, riskier art statement. My ruse
appeared to have worked it's magic.

connected to host>>
welcome to private chat
BUGMAN: Phrog?
DOGPHROG: Hi Buggy
BUGMAN: plans for tonight?
DOGPHROG: u tell me
BUGMAN: runnin' all over town looking for a little bug
DOGPHROG: what's the clue? will u be napalming a
nursery, cluster-bombing a kindergarten?
BUGMAN: ha, i'll make it easy for you
DOGPHROG: yr so kind
BUGMAN: pick a bridge, any bridge

Bugman does not realise it but I have been there for all of his
stunts and it is good to see that he has finally moved beyond the
aerosol can. My instincts told me that tonight he would pick the
highest and the grandest bridge in the city. I did not even bother to
follow him from home as I usually do, I just made right for it. He
works with the speed and agility of a pianist as the first of the
dummies are attached to the giant arches that underwire the span.
Despite his claims, it is impossible that he has seen me, after all, as
I watch him now. His paranoia has obviously working overtime ascribing
random encounters with strangers and tramps as potential rendezvous'
with myself. He attaches the cables to a dozen life-size mannequins,
presumably of his own making, all dressed in suits and bowler hats. I
am reminded of the Calvi murder and wonder if he has been careful
enough to stuff money into the pockets. A few even have umbrellas
strapped to their lifeless arms. All the dummies are soon ready to go,
lying
waiting to be catapulted over the side. It is time to strike. Flashes
light up the surrounding gorge as the last dummy swings in the dirty
gloom of the river. I can see that Bugman has smiled for the
camera.

As Bugman swings amongst his dummies over the brown cloudy soup, I
like to think he would be happy to have died as part of his own
creation. I cannot consider Bugman to be anything approaching great as
an artist. My quest continues for a true prodigy, if my pride ever
allows me to recognize true genius.

I skim through back yards and over low walls to my home, light of
foot, ears quickened, and I suspect that if I can avoid complacency and
bad luck there is no reason to ever be caught. After all this time I am
only beginning to understand the night. I like to compare it to
swimming underwater. The novice can only survive for a few desperate
seconds competing with the impossible enemies of oxygen, pressure and
time. But with practice, balance and energy of the current becomes your
focus. With even more experience, even these become natural and a
finesse blossoms.

I've made it home once again, unseen and barely heard. I
collapse in front of my flickering screen and savour the moment.
Adrenalin,
the sweet fuel of victory impels me to find a new opponent. My boys
are
busy cleaning up the mess and my nocturnal kingdom waits for
a new contestant.